[9] “It is not, in the same manner, in the agonised limbs, or in the convulsed muscles of the Laocoon, that the secret grace of its composition resides; it is in the majestic air of the head, which has not _yielded to suffering_, and in the deep serenity of the forehead, which seems to be still _superior_ to all its _afflictions_, and significant of a mind that cannot be subdued.”--Alison’s _Essays_, vol. ii. p. 400. “Laocoon nous offre le spectacle de la nature humaine dans la plus grande douleur dont elle soit susceptible, sous l’image d’un homme qui tâche de rassembler contre elle toute la force de l’esprit. Tandis que l’excès de la souffrance enfle les muscles, et tire violemment les nerfs, le courage se montre sur le front gonflé: la poitrine s’élève avec peine par la nécessité de la respiration, qui est également contrainte par le silence que la force de l’âme impose à la douleur qu’elle voudrait étouffer * * * * Son air est plaintif, et non criard.”---Winckelmann, _Histoire de l’Art chez les Anciens_, tom. ii. p. 214. [10] _Almotana._ The name given by the Arabs to the Dead Sea. [11] _The Transfiguration_, thought to be so perfect a specimen of art, that, in honour of Raphael, it was carried before his body to the grave. MODERN GREECE. “O Greece! thou sapient nurse of finer arts, Which to bright Science blooming Fancy bore, Be this thy praise, that thou, and thou alone, In these hast led the way, in these excell’d, Crown’d with the laurel of assenting Time.” Thomson’s _Liberty_. I. Oh! who hath trod thy consecrated clime, Fair land of Phidias! theme of lofty strains! And traced each scene that, midst the wrecks of time, The print of Glory’s parting step retains; Nor for awhile, in high-wrought dreams, forgot, Musing on years gone by in brightness there, The hopes, the fears, the sorrows of his lot, The hues his fate hath worn, or yet may wear; As when, from mountain-heights, his ardent eye Of sea and heaven hath track’d the blue infinity? II. Is there who views with cold unalter’d mien, His frozen heart with proud indifference fraught, Each sacred haunt, each unforgotten scene, Where Freedom triumph’d, or where Wisdom taught? Souls that too deeply feel! oh, envy not The sullen calm your fate hath never known: Through the dull twilight of that wintery lot Genius ne’er pierced, nor Fancy’s sunbeam shone, Nor those high thoughts that, hailing Glory’s trace, Glow with the generous flames of every age and race. III.